


Fighting Fire with Fire

by MasterOfNoots



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Firebending & Firebenders, Gen, Military, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Torture, again i suck at tagging i am so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24341257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MasterOfNoots/pseuds/MasterOfNoots
Summary: Alistair would do anything for his family, and that's something they find hard to accept.
Kudos: 4





	1. The Sacrificial Son

A vicious crackle of thunder and lightning filled their room, abruptly waking Alistair who had already been dealing with the turmoil of his mind. He sat up, hugged his knees and gently rested his head against his arms, beginning the breathing exercises he had taught himself in times like this. Within a few extended inhales and exhales he felt himself lose track of time and reality itself. Soft fingers tapped a rhythmic beat on his head, prompting him to find the piercing blue gaze that could only belong to one of his brothers among the darkness. There was worry in those eyes, tell-tale by the soft glow in them from the blue fire that burned in his heart, reaching out ever so softly to comfort the red that enveloped his.  
  
“Why don’t you let Andrei go? You’re getting sick just thinking about it,” Avian whispered as not to wake the others, scrambling to move further into the nook that was Alistair's bed. He rested his arm across his back, angling to scratch the wee sprouts of hair before letting his head come to a rest on the other’s shoulder. “He would do just as well.”  
  
He sighed, knowing the truth that Andrei could not do ‘just as well’. The man was built on stubbornness and had an unwillingness to learn anything that didn’t involve aviation. Yet he couldn’t blame him, he’d found his niche just as any other human does. Although in Alistair’s endeavour to find his own he had learned many trades, techniques, and teachings that allowed him a broader playing field. The fire ablaze in Andrei’s heart had not been tamed either and he was still brewing with fury after their first encounter with the American. His eyes always drifted towards the healing bullet wound on Avian’s shoulder, gaze snapping away within seconds lest he be engulfed in hatred and driven to a madness he could not control.  
  
“It has to be you, doesn’t it?” The hand that had been comforting him slipped away trailing down his arm to lay atop the hand that was still tightly gripping his knee. One long squeeze, and Avian moved out from the bed to return to his. A long day was to ensue.  
  


* * *

  
The two he most cared about got the longest hugs but the other pair got a respectful nod. Something had been whispered into Avian’s ear, a note passed discreetly between them and tucked into a pocket but no one bothered to pry. It hurt to cut them off in such a manner, to leave his family behind as he loaded into the truck with the other soldiers, but it was something he had to do in order to protect them. ‘The American’ as he had been deemed by the local Afghani and fellow Russians was not to be underestimated and should any injury fall the brothers by his hand their emotions were surely to get the best of them. Tales had been told about the red sparks that danced on his skin and blue eyes that carried such boiling anger it could bring any stew to readiness. He had shown no mercy on several of their men for information, some gave it and some died by their vow of silence.  
  
For now he would find comfort in the men he was placed with and indeed he felt safe among the highly trained Spetsnaz. They inquired exuberantly about him over the coming trip, often asking for a light that led to joyful expressions when his ruby red flame wrapped around the tip of the cigarette. Some even went as far as offering up a stick, piece of cloth, or a useless object to be ignited and charred, and he would indulge them. When things had become silent and the others had satisfied their curiosity, one sat close by the fire while the rest dallied around the makeshift camp.  
  
“My father fought alongside yours, called him ‘ _The Greatest Soviet Experiment_ ’. I’m excited to see his progeny in action.”  
  
“I think you’ll be disappointed.” Putting on a show for foolish men was child’s play, but showing real talent with his abilities was something he had yet to master and a subject he was unwilling to dabble in. It was a deal he had made with Avian one day after school, ‘Use no fire but for growth, prosperity, and most importantly- _fun_.’ He had held strong by it for years - pinky swore if he remembered correctly - instead learning to fight by pure strength and strength alone. Aleksandr and Aiden used it too much for bullying, burning others’ food and books, while Andrei had the habit of losing his temper which left the surrounding area littered in burn marks.  
  
“Don’t think I will. He told me how powerful he was, scorched scores of men, left others disfigured and smelling downright rotten.” Alistair didn’t care to hear about his father as much as Andrei did. It was all brute force, _manliness_ , without the tactical aspect.  
  
“And did anyone ever tell you about my mother?” The other shot him a confused look, eyes wide at the thought of a woman with such power.  
  
“N-No, I didn’t think they’d allow such a thing.” Such a statement left a sour taste in Alistair’s mouth, insulted that for all she’d done no one bothered to remember. But he did, he would always.  
  
“When the krauts marched in, in 1941, she was there. Took out hundreds of them all the while keeping friendlies nice and toasty, meals warm.” Some days had Alistair astounded at what people will erase, even his brothers willingly glossing over their own mother’s feats. Everyone had been enamored by Iven, a man so lost in booze, women, and fire to call some of his actions heroic was shameful. Yet in the coldest of winters, in the darkest of nights, Anastasia had held the everlasting flame of the Red Army.  
  
The fire that lit the camp burned out with the coming sun and the remaining hours went by quickly as the group neared their destination- the last known position of the American as told by watching eyes. He had been diligently searching within old Russian hold outs for any and all scraps of information, anything to lead to the location of the bastard Kaidnovosky family. But as luck would have it, they found him first.  
  
In the dark of night his partners had cleared most buildings fairly quickly, obediently following the layout of the camp yet he strayed, trailing the familiar burn marks of a man without a path, lost to his own thoughts and feelings. He had seen them once before when Andrei had been rejected. The house over the next few days was a mess with every graze and grasp of fiery fingers. Alistair had sat down next to him when he finally collapsed out of exhaustion, inquiring why it was such a big deal, and the answer came in big bubbling tears. ‘ _I loved them.’_ He had never felt love himself, perhaps never tried, but he knew his brother had a big heart that poured out for anything and everyone. A dingy stray cat could have him bawling on his knees, offering his last piece of tuna sandwich. _Something to think about_ , he thought. Had love caused someone to lose their way yet again?  
  
All of his training had prepared him for the moment, yet here he was taken aback, struggling to see beyond what his flame could illuminate as the sleeping agent traveled through his body. In a spout of anger he began haphazardly waving a fiery hand, attempting to keep the attacker at bay. The American laughed, ending his struggle for consciousness by one swift knock to the head with his gun.  
  
When the others approached the scuffle the American walked past near calmly with the Russian on his shoulder. The squad was only met with the searing blaze of a fire wall conjured by the American himself when they drew close, and every step had a lick of fire lashing out, tempting one to step forward. His quarrel was not with them and he would not see them burned if he had not gained anything from their destruction.  
  


* * *

  
The slap was unnecessary. He had already been waking up albeit groggily and to his dismay. There was no need for struggle, no attempt to escape as he felt the rope tight against his wrists and ankles. “Into BDSM I see. Good handy work.” His hands flexed desperately as he attempted to call up a spark only to be met with the reality that his power had since been neutralized. Alistair smirked, admiring the extent the other had gone to water him down. _Too weak to deal with me as I am, huh?_ His eyes studied the small room, a workshop most likely as tools adorned the walls. A gun placed upon the wood table, patiently waiting to claim another victim. But a key part was missing.  
  
Alistair closed his eyes, listening to the soft crunch of sand and soil on the concrete floor as bootsteps approached from behind. “Shut up.” Such a weak response, so intimidating. When he reopened them, there stood the man who was so hellbent on killing his family. Those were the blue eyes they spoke of, nothing like Avian’s. Harsh and pale. Unforgiving. They stared down at him as the face of a blade caught the glint of the bulb above them.  
  
“Oh, wow, really authentic. Dangling bulb. Disgusting room. Knife. Amazing scene setting, it’s really believable!” His snarky comments were rewarded with a harsh hit to the jaw, but it didn’t discourage those to come.  
  
“Where are your fucking brothers?” Richard pressed the edge of the blade against Alistair’s throat, desperately holding back from drawing blood and silencing him then and there.  
  
“That hurts, you know? Where’s your parents? I’m telling them you’re not playing nice.” In a blurred movement, a knife was sunk deep into his abdomen. He suppressed a pained groan, “Fuck, that was my favourite tattoo.”  
  
“God, I’ve about had e-fucking-nough of you. Tell me where your fucking brothers are.” Another puncture was made not far from the previous, more being made with fierce repetition of the question. Richard was growing impatient and knife play was not going to work, and if not that then what would? Something sparked in his mind as the dirty knife was dropped, red speckled hand moving to hover ever so close to Alistair’s chest.  
  
“What are you doing? You going to cop a feel?”  
  
Red flames began to dance ever so lightly on the bloodied skin of Richard’s hand, bringing the liquid to a boil despite his flesh remaining undamaged. For a moment, Alistair retained his smug demeanor before the realization that his fire had been washed away dripped down onto his face, turning his expression into a deep scowl. The heat was bearable for some seconds until the fire grew, fingers touching down on his bare chest. Brows furrowed deeply as he exhaled, beginning to draw long breaths while focusing on the handle of the door as his mind dipped into the waters of another time.  
  
“What are you doing?” A soft spoken voice emerged from the blackness, painting the inner cavern of his mind with the yellow and green of a field, surrounding trees rustling in the wind, and a distant body of water moving in constant as time should. The bustle of busy Moscow could be heard past the area- one could never really escape the city without straying too far from home. _This_ was one of his favourite moments.  
  
“Practicing.” A red flame flowed peacefully through the air as Alistair moved into another tai chi position, something Avian could never accomplish. His brother sat down among the billowing grass, watching his every movement diligently.  
  
“I think you look dumb.” Remarks from Avian weren’t uncommon, and in a weird way he appreciated them. At least he wasn’t lying as his brothers did most of the time, often making a silly try at being interested in anything that wasn’t rough housing.  
  
Alistair hummed in response as he held the pose, “You could join me.”   
  
Reluctantly, Avian pushed himself up to walk over and mimic his brother, studying his figure before making a terrible attempt at copying it. He exhaled, summoning the blue flame that cursed him most days. The fire sparked and spat, moving out of control as opposed to the liquidity shown by it’s ruby partner.  
  
“Slow your breathing.” Easier said than done. Avian closed his eyes but couldn’t conjure anything that calmed him, rather he worked himself up even more in the coming moments. His fire began to lash out like the sun’s solar flares, the coloured hair on his head igniting as his face contorted into a pained expression. Alistair watched as the skin began to spark, electricity emitting at Avian’s fingertips and before a coherent thought graced his mind he grabbed his hand, swallowing the fire and electricity whole. Avian’s eyes shot open at the sudden contact, meeting his brother’s concerned gaze before they both turned to look at the miracle before them.  
  
“Did you know our colours can mix? Have you ever seen them do that? S-Should we tell them? I think Andrei would love it.” Alistair retracted his hand which returned to it’s normal red state and Avian’s own blue. They again combined hands, creating a luscious purple that mimicked their brother’s.  
  
“No, no, and no.” At least he answered all of his questions, but to keep this from their brothers was going to be hard. Avian was never the one to pass up a good ‘look what I can do and you can’t!’ moment. But the trouble was quickly forgotten as they brightened the evening sky with splashes of blue, purple, and red, at some point creating a tiny purple lightning strike that unfortunately sent a poor tree to it’s grave. And that’s when they decided to run before they caught something on fire. Fire. Hmm, that was a funny word.  
  
“I guess this is it, huh. You’re fucking useless to me.” Richard stabled his flame for the time being, looking once over for the gun he had hastily discarded on the table. By now there was no energy left in Alistair’s body to react to the searing pain that flecked across his chest where fingertips dug in and melted flesh, tattoos drooping downwards. The warm thought of Avian had departed from his mind, leaving him to the cold and harsh reality. But he didn’t mind. There were four others safe, protected by the actions he would take in this very moment. Alistair never considered himself a man afraid of death. If it came, it came, and that was something he was willing to come to terms with as long as it had meaning. His gaze remained fixated on the floor as the cold metal of the gun was placed to his forehead, a hand roughly grabbing his face to push his head up and force his eyes to come in contact with that of his attacker.  
  
No warning, only pain. Red illuminated between them, yet he could not escape this time, instead being forced to take in the smell of his own burning flesh. Never did the scorching heat falter, even when the hand was removed from his face. As much as Alistair wanted to fight, this was the end. He need not continue, need not look for a path away from the light.  
  
“Any last words?” What could be pulled into a smile did so, a certain respect towards the mockery of his earlier sarcasm that made the other cringe. A simple flex of muscles...  
  
 _Bang._

* * *

 _  
_The brothers had been waiting, hopeful for his return, but when everyone jumped out of the truck with eyes downcast there was a notion something had gone wrong. Avian rushed past the soldiers, desperately searching every nook and cranny of the vehicle for Alistair. He implored them to answer his cries, but was met with stares and silence. Andrei followed suit, pulling his brother into a hug before blue would dance uncontrollably among the soldiers, leading him back into the barracks.  
  
Days passed before his body was left on their doorstep, abandoned in the same fashion he had died in. Attempts had been made to keep him from seeing the corpse but to no avail, he had a knack for slipping through when he was deemed ‘too soft to see.’ Wordless cries escaped, hot tears streamed down his cheeks, and blood marred his skin as he held his brother to his chest. Andrei had put a hand on his shoulder in solace but was quickly pushed away with a blue fury that he could not withstand. _‘Let him be,’_ he heard as the others walked away and it was rightful that they left him to wallow in his grief, he was owed that. For years, Alistair had been his only saving grace, holding the black creatures and ghosts of his past and future back with red flame. He had been there to protect him from Sasha and Aiden when they poked and prodded at him for being the loose end. He had been there to protect him from himself when his fire roared out of control, threatening to destroy the very world he loved. He had been there to protect him from uncertainty, when he became lost to the growing remorse that piled on with every bullet that exited the chamber of his gun. Who was his protection now?  
  
Within time he returned to the room with clothes painted in ruby and climbed somberly into the top bunk, giving in to the exhaustion that ached his body. Only when the room began to wreak did they bother him, letting him lean against their bodies as they guided him to the washroom. Andrei ushered the others out and took his time cleaning the skin soaked with red, looking up every once in a while at his brother in an attempt to comfort the distraught blue gaze.  
  
“What did the note say?”  
  
Avian had almost forgotten about it but he had read it in the dim light of the night. His chest rose and fell rapidly as another wave of tears burst the dam he had built up. “H-he wrote about how much he loves all of us, what each of us has taught him. Said, ‘ _Bury me with my favourite knife, you know the one_.’ We’re not supposed to be burying him. Were not supposed to be burying him, Andrei!”   
  
“I know. I know.” He brushed the hair back from Avian’s face that had slowly dampened and fell with the streaming water.   
  
Avian’s tears had finally come to a stand still and he leaned back in the tub that was becoming stained. “How long until he comes for us? He knows where we are.” It was much more complicated than hunting them down and snuffing them out, Richard had a game to play with them. This was his time to enjoy them suffer in fear as he had done in the burning ashes of his base, waiting for the end in a world that would not give it to him.  
  
“If he comes then so be it, we will be ready.”


	2. Mirrored Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two people stricken by grief fight for justification in their actions.

Yet they hadn’t been ready. Months had gone by without a sound from locals about any movement and their fellow soldiers had not seen any sign of the American. None could exactly speculate what happened to him and that worried the brothers. It would have been better to guess he was dead than a mystery waiting to attack them at their most vulnerable.   
  
The time spent from there forward consisted of planning and training to combat the bastard lurking in the shadows. But what lied deeper was every other night the Kaidnovosky room stirred, awoken by his screaming, crying for this to be all a nightmare. They deemed it Andrei’s job to deal with him as he was the eldest, turning over in their beds as he gently took Avian into his arms, rocking him back and forth as Carl had done when they were young.   
  


* * *

  
The first shot rang out across the battered buildings of an Afghani town, alerting the four brothers as they surveyed what was left for resources. Aleksandr and Aiden scurried into a nearby restaurant, moving to duck down behind a counter before checking for injuries. _Clear._   
  
Andrei pushed himself up against the nearby wall, slowly inching towards the open doorway while calling out for his brother who had been patiently standing by. There was a silence between them that had Andrei too scared to look out but made him aware of the situation.  
  
He had never wanted to hear those words, never wanted to subject his brother to the life he chose. Yet the other had followed them despite his reluctance, followed them into the horrors of war as day by day blood and sweat clung to their clothes and skin. “A-Andrei, it’s not supposed to be red… right,” came the meek voice of Avian, quickly losing his grip on reality and the consciousness he so desperately needed in this moment. He heard the crunch of dirt under the knees of his brother as he crumbled towards the ground, before falling altogether with a thud. In an act of adrenaline Andrei rushed out towards him, grabbing him by his vest before pulling him into the store.   
  
No matter how many times he told him, _‘Put pressure on it,’_ Avian could not follow through. His hand kept slipping off his stomach, lost in the blackened waters of life and death, walking the thin line towards keeping himself alive or letting go to the familiar face of his lost brother. “I don’t want to die, Andrei. I don’t want to die, but I want to see him,” he let out a heavy breath, truly letting the tears fall that he had kept at bay for so long. “I want to see Alistair.”  
  
Andrei held him close, listening to the far sound of gunfire as he pressed a kiss to the black hair under the helmet that Avian claimed ruined his look. With care he took off the vest, the gun, and all other equipment weighing down his brother, allowing him to feel the fresh cool air of the night within the building. “Don't fight; you don’t have to fight anymore.” Tears streamed down his own cheeks as he threaded his fingers through black and blue tufts, gripping his brother’s body tight against his own as he felt breaths slowly depreciate. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered against his forehead when he felt the final fall of Avian’s chest, holding back the urge to sob uncontrollably, an act that would surely give away his position. But he found himself uncaring whether he died or lived, a life not filled with the laughter and antics of his brothers was a life he was not willing to live. Andrei had already lost his parents, anymore grief would threaten to destroy him.  
  
All sound had ceased after a few moments and Andrei could not make out who had won the altercation. Though when the sound of only a singular pair of boots tread heavily across the abandoned street the outcome was clear. “Where are you? _WHERE ARE YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT?”  
  
_ There was no need for strategy, no need for carefully executed plans anymore. All had been sacrificed and laid out on the battlefield, and he was willingly to play the silly game the American dog had brought forth. Did he want to see what emotions could do to a man, what grief could cause? Andrei whipped around the corner of the doorway, lunging towards the monster that had taken so much away from him, knocking the man to the ground. He moved to strike before a fiery hand knocked him away, throwing him to the very dirt where blood had pooled from his brother’s wound.   
  
“So you finally show your face, huh? This is the man! This is the man who killed my wife, my child!” Every thrown punch was weak, fueled by a hatred he could not control and focus into any precise hit. Most missed, and the ones that didn’t were easily returned with twice the force from a soldier who had spent the time to train, to prepare for this moment. What power the American had brought was almost laughable and he guessed the circumstances he must have had to have Alistair in to defeat him. But there was nothing here to aid him in bringing down the Russian, no agents to hold back his fire nor keep his body slump in a chair. This would be a true test of his skills.  
  
“I did not KNOW!” Andrei snarled, infuriated by the accusation that he had specifically targeted this feeble man and his family. “They ordered me to attack, and I followed the orders! Have you not done something wrong in your time?”   
  
Richard glared back at the man as he directed a streak of purple fire away from his face into the night sky, returning with a slash of red flames that Andrei ducked from at the last second. If he had done so, it would have been just and he neglected to think any further on the subject. “And what of me, the bastard of your breed? You all sit there, eating grapes, relishing in the fact that you’re the pride of Russia! And what did I get? Experimented on, used, stripped of my identity other than a tool of war!”  
  
“ _That_ is not my fault!” A powerful gust of flame lashed out, blinding Richard which left him stumbling in the same manner he had had Alistair in. In the moments he had, Andrei slipped away into the crumbling remains of an apartment building, seeking cover behind the walls of a dingy blue room on the second floor. _Breathe in, breathe out_ , he felt foolish copying the techniques his brother had followed in times of stress but they had in turn given him complete control over his red flame. _‘Think of it as an extension of the self. We are not those who create fire, we are those who control it.’_ Andrei sighed, cursing himself for laughing at his teachings. Alistair had always spoken to better himself and his brothers, but everyone aside from Avian chose to ignore it.  
  
“Marco!” The American called as he slowly made his way up the stairs, passing his hand along the wall which guided him in the surrounding darkness. A distant ‘ _Polo!’_ could be heard, and he smirked at the fact the other indulged in his sense of humour. Richard took careful steps, passing by each doorway expecting a purple flame to dance out before his eyes. Andrei stepped around and lunged at him once again, a quick handed fight of fire followed and the two moved through the building. Time passed by fast around them and they stilled across from each other on the fourth floor, lungs grasping for air in the thick smoke of their extinguished flames that held heavy in the small hallway.  
  
“Why? Why did you take them away from me?” The words were so very sincere, filled with a pain he could easily mirror if he had asked the same question.  
  
“It was not my intention.” Andrei pushed forward, breaking the stalemate and sending forth wave after wave of fire that singed Richard, forcing him to fall back. It was only when he felt the cold plaster of the window sill that he realized his mistake. No rooms nearby, no place to run, forced into a rock and a hard place by his own stupid emotions. Andrei stabled his fire, grabbing Richard by the throat before looking him dead in the eye. There were a million things he wanted to ask, wanted to say, but none were spoken on this night. In reality, Andrei did not want to know the answers and he knew the man in front of him did not deserve to hear his pain. With ease, he hoisted Richard’s feeble body by the grip he maintained, leaning him out the shattered window of the building. A heavy sigh left his body as he pushed the American out, turning away from the opening as the other began his descent to the cold ground below. He did not wish to see the aftermath of his work, he had seen enough death today. His legs barely supported him as he made the trek down the flight of steps that would take him to the bloodied body of his brother. Andrei wobbled, leaning against any surface he could, tearing up silently with every step.  
  
The ride home was painful and the faces that searched for an answer to the looming question decided it was best not to celebrate. There was no reason for happiness, there would not be for a while. That was the day the drinking started and Carl watched as his now only son drifted away from reality with every sip. But he offered comfort where he could and Andrei appreciated it.   
  


* * *

  
Helicopter blades whooshed over head as a spotlight scouted the rubble, falling upon the pale body of the American painted in red. His body was hastily retrieved, a treasure of the US Army to stay hidden for as long as it was needed to be. The surrounding crew gasped when his chest rose, a shaky hand reaching out for contact, for grounding and was met with the hand of a fellow soldier. He was reassured more times than he’d like to hear, “ _ It’s okay. We’ve got you. You’re going to make it.”  _ Richard was well aware it was not okay, nothing was going to be okay anymore.


End file.
